


the road is mine, and I am his

by thedurianprince



Category: Granblue Fantasy (Video Game)
Genre: Blood and Injury, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Major Character Injury, Percival and Heles are BFFs, implied vanelance but not enough content to warrant the tag haha
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-17
Updated: 2019-10-17
Packaged: 2020-12-21 09:38:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,602
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21072785
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thedurianprince/pseuds/thedurianprince
Summary: A mission goes awry, leaving Percival and Siegfried stranded at a frozen outpost with only one another to survive on.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> There are references to (and some spoilers for) the following stories and events: 
> 
> \- Defender's Oath (event)  
\- SIEGFRIED (event)  
\- Frost & Flame (event)  
\- Hero's Return (event)  
\- For her Homeland's Sake (Heles/Percival cross-fate)  
\- Percival's lvl 100 fate ep 
> 
> Title is in reference to "Into the White" by Caligula's Horse -- tbh "The Tide, the Thief, and the River's End" is a great album to play in the background for this piece. (Altho I marathoned "Ware, Yami Tote..." and "Inconvenient Ideal" by Dir en grey while writing this, haha.) 
> 
> Big thanks to my big sexy beta!

“Go!” Percival barked. 

Lancelot hesitated. Vane opened his mouth to protest -- “What are you thinking, Percy?! We can’t leave you behind!” -- and Percival continued to argue, bathed in flames as he dashed forward. 

“You’re on a mission, you have your targets, and I’m not it,” he growled, ducking out of the way of a spray of snow and sharp ice. 

“You don’t have to act cool, Percival! Not now!” Vane hollered, practically hanging off of the still-lowered gangway and reaching for him. 

“I’m not trying to be cool, you stupid whelp!” Percival broke his focus just long enough to glare at Vane. “This is the best solution and you know it!” 

“No!” Lancelot objected, raising his voice against the rising wind. “Percival, I don’t care how sensible you think it is, we’re not agreeing to you taking on a primal by yourself!” 

They were starting to outpace Percival, who was just on foot in snow. The boarlike primal was entirely focused on him, leaving the ship full of the Feendrachen cartographers they were sent to rescue the first window they’d had to escape. 

“Then I think I can offer a solution.” 

Siegfried’s presence went from unnoticeable to flooding the space like lamplight as he stood before Lancelot and Vane on the gangway, fully armored and sword shouldered. This time, when Vane opened his mouth to protest, Lancelot cut him off. 

“...We’ll leave them at the village where we first rendez-voused, and we’ll return immediately,” Lancelot said, voice clear but brows knitted. Vane couldn’t argue, though he didn’t look pleased by the solution. “With reinforcements, if we can.” 

Sieg nods. “We’ll try not to go much further than the mapmakers’ outpost.” 

“Just do what you need to and don’t lose Percy, Siegfried! We’ll find you, whatever it takes!” 

Sieg gave a thumbs-up as he closed his helmet, and somehow, even now, Vane and Lancelot could find reassurance in the gesture. Both felt the slightest bit less uneasy, watching Siegfried leap off the ship, and land into a roll in the snow without losing momentum. As he rushed the primal (whose tusks had been locked against Percival’s sword as he struggled to keep ground), Lancelot issued the ship crew the order to increase speed and altitude. 

Vane gritted his teeth as he returned to the deck and pulled the gangway up properly. 

“Ahhh, I hate feeling helpless like this,” he muttered under his breath to only Lancelot. 

“I know,” Lancelot replied, matching his volume. “But of all the people we could’ve put in such a tight spot…” 

“Yeah,” Vane reluctantly agreed.

Siegfried, Percival, and the primal were now far enough that it was difficult to read whose movements were whose. Soon, it was just the hulking, shimmering form of the boar of ice, the blur of black and red armor, and Percival’s bright flames all blending beyond anything meaningful. 

Lancelot couldn’t bring himself to look away. Vane put a hand on his shoulder. “Lancey, if you want me to take point on the mapmakers….” 

“No, no.” Lancelot placed his hand over Vane’s with a small sigh. “They’re all in rough shape, and we’re already on a skeleton crew. It’s all hands on deck.” 

\---------------------------

_“Lohenwolf!”_

Percival’s attack blazed furiously, perhaps more unrestrained than usual. This stretch of mountain was barren, just empty fields of snow and craggy rock, and there was next to nothing for him to damage. There was also next to no-one to fall back on past Siegfried, though Percival has long known that relying on Siegfried was like relying on an entire army. 

The flames, as aggressive as they were, did little to effectively damage the beast. Percival had managed to make it tread back, startled by the display, finally giving him ground after an entire battle on the defensive. But the fire itself only seemed to melt the sharp ice frozen over its fur like quills and armor. 

Sieg had barely been in the battle a moment before he seized the opportunity Percival presented. He rushed through the flames, climbing partway up the beast before it noticed, writhed, and squealed as Sieg plunged his sword into its haunch. Percival marveled how quickly Sieg had already found the primal’s dead angle and adapted to the unexpected opening; in truth, Percival had predicted (or perhaps hoped) his attack would have functioned as something far more effective than a light show. 

_That’s just how it is,_ Percival thought to himself in the scant moment he had to slow down and relax just a hair, especially now that Siegfried was on the offense. _I have only one path to victory against frost. I’ve known this. My only way forward is to rely on the skills of others. _

__

But as glad as he was to see Sieg, his jaw clenched as he watched him calmly cling on and dig his sword deeper, even as the primal practically convulsed to shake him off. Since he had first gotten the beast’s attention (entirely by accident -- the primal just reacted violently to the sight of him), Percival had failed to land as effective or as solid a hit as Siegfried since the primal first found them. He would sooner surrender the heirloom armor he wore than let any of his companions, much less Siegfried, not only witness him be useless, but be forced to carry the weight of the battle for him. 

__

The boar charged forward with blinding speed and power, giving up on twisting Sieg off. Sieg grunted as he was thrown from the primal, the sword dislodged from sheer force, and Percival rushed to his side as he was thrown into the snow. 

__

Sieg, as Percival found all too often, had no real need of his help. He cooly uprighted himself, barely breathing any harder than normal, while Percival had long been panting and exhausted. 

__

“It’d be nice if it just kept charging like that until it tired itself out,” Sieg mused, the primal still charging ahead and away from them. 

__

“I doubt that’s how it works, Siegfried.” With a startling crash, the boar collided with a rocky structure about its size, the whole thing collapsing into dust on impact. Percival winced, thinking about the village they had taken off from, an already delicate system with little room for a disaster. “Without collateral, anyways,” 

__

“Ah, of course,” Siegfried replied, speaking with the same gentleness and ease Percival still found comfort in. 

__

The boar had screeched to a halt after running into the boulder, and now it turned around and looked dead in their direction with the sense of irrational, feral rage a rampaging primal wore. Percival and Sieg instinctively took their readied stances as the beast sunk its weight back, preparing to surge with speed and power right at them. The old habits of the Black Dragons seeped through Percival’s body and instincts, and he thinks to look to Sieg for orders…

__

Percival frowned without realizing, his heart recoiling so strongly from the thought he was still acting like a rookie footsoldier. In a moment of capriciousness, he decided to give in to an urge, an act of pride, an inelegant and half-formed idea. 

__

“Siegfried, follow my lead.” His chest was still heaving as he tried to catch his breath. 

__

“Did you have an idea?”

__

Percival gestured at a unique piece of mountain terrain a bit behind them. The ground split into a higher and lower path, and the higher jutted upwards before curving over the lower, like an ocean wave solidified in the random, craggy shapes of stone. 

__

“I’m sure you’ve noticed it chases me and only me, if given the opportunity.” 

__

“I wonder why that is?” 

__

“I must’ve hurt its feelings when I called Vane a pig. He packed an entire cavalry’s worth of homemade jerky for the day’s rations, you know.” 

__

“Ah, yes. I saw you wolfing some of that down earlier. It looked tasty.” 

__

“--Anyways.” 

__

At this point, the primal had started its charge. 

__

“I’ll lead it there. I should be able to get it to crash into the side while the top collapses, and if that’s not enough, I’m sure you can encourage it along. I want you to come in from above -- I expect that we can slow it down significantly, if not trap it until we have a more concrete solution to calm it.” 

__

“What about you escaping all that rubble collapsing, Percival?” 

__

“Humph. Are you finding excuses to go easy on this beast, Siegfried?” 

__

Sieg smiled both fondly and worriedly at Percival. “And if I am?” 

__

“Then I’d tell you to just trust me and go wild.” Percival’s grin was as confident and challenging as ever. Sieg laughed a bit. 

__

“Well, then. I suppose I’ll have to.” 

__

The boar was now too close to try and discuss any other strategy, but at Percival’s signal, it was clear both he and Sieg were committed and trusting enough of the plan to follow it through. They break, and Sieg dashed up the higher path, Percival the lower. 

__

For a few fleeting moments, Percival let himself feel almost giddy with the confidence that his on-the-fly plan would turn out to be as effective as he had hoped. 

__

\--------------------------- 

__

The boar primal was a wondrous-looking thing, shimmering delicately with a rainbow of cold, fresh-looking crystalline colors, but sporting the powerful frame and silhouette of a real and suitably massive boar. At a different time, with a different expression, under different circumstances, its face could have looked strong and friendly, and its sharp, curving tusks, with ice blooming in lovely geometry off of and all over itself, would just be beautiful. 

__

From Siegfried’s vantage point, it only made an animalistic ferocity burn in him. As expected, the rocky overhang cracked underneath him as the boar rammed into the wall below. He drank in the momentum of falling with the rubble, placed his foot in his sword’s hold, and aimed for a vulnerable, key point in its back. He felt somewhat bad; it was clear that the primal was not acting in malice, just raging confusion, but he kept the apologies he felt towards it withdrawn entirely from his body. 

__

He made a clean hit, the blade sinking in deeply with the crunching sound of breaking snow. The boar tensed, squealed, and writhed, but it was too trapped and overwhelmed to throw Sieg off or move much of anywhere. 

__

Sieg gripped the sword tighter and looked for Percival through the chaos. The rush spread through his whole body. It had been so long since he’d drank Fafnir’s blood and he’d already so thoroughly adopted it into his fighting style, he often wasn’t sure if these feral rushes were the dragon’s or his. But as Sieg made out Percival, pinned to the rocky wall, wearing furious determination as the writhing boar’s tusk tore through his body, he knew the boil in his blood this time would be entirely his own. 

__

He started to call to him but was interrupted with a violent crack and thwack to his head (from crumbling rock, Sieg assumed) and he felt a piece of his helmet split off, the edge digging into his scalp. His head rang as blood flowed down and clouded his vision. 

__

Sieg had been nearly sure something would go wrong, as things did in the sloppiness of haste, battle, panic, and survival, but he was happy to trust Percival’s confidence and their collective power. He knew Percival was quick-witted and decisive enough to readjust his strategy quickly and easily, and there was a part of Sieg that was fine if not eager to follow that lead. Even if his habits as captain of the Black Dragons were still second nature, they still felt rusted after all the time he’d spent in isolation. And he had to admit -- he wanted to better see how Percival had grown, to see what approach he’d take. How it would differ from Sieg himself, Lancelot, Vane, Gunther, Josef…

__

“Is this what you needed?” he heard Percival project, somehow still with all the aplomb and goading of a heel. “Did you need to draw blood to satisfy your rampage? Fine -- ah-- ” 

__

Sieg tugged at his sword blindly with one hand while wiping his eyes with the other. Something had locked it in place -- he guessed it must be the ice it armored itself with, scabbing over to protect a fresh wound -- but when he managed to wriggle it slightly free, the boar twitched underneath him. With nothing but Percival and a rock wall in front of him, its tusk only plunged in deeper, and though most of the rock overhang had already fallen, it rumbled precariously like the rest of it would. 

__

“Percival!” 

__

By the time Sieg had wiped the blood away, Percival had once again fiercely locked eyes with the boar, grinning confidently, only breaking his eye contact to meet Sieg’s. Sieg’s chest swelled with equal parts worry and admiration. He wanted to rush to his side, the bodily memory of seeing so many of his dearest people fall and bleed out threatening to blend with his battle-blush and take him over completely. The urge to leap further into the fray, armed only with an urgent, berserk sense of care was hard to resist, especially as he confirmed solid ice had grown from the primal’s wound and locked his sword in place. There were, in fact, several new icy barbs and quills as long as Sieg’s blade itself that had formed around it.

__

“Oi, Siegfried!” Percival barked. “Was I unclear about how we have no room to go easy?” He conspicuously raised one hand, the faint black glow of X-Seele gathering, and gripped his sword with the other, stoking his flames. 

__

Sieg felt like he had been tossed an anchor. “What was it you asked me to do? Just trust you and go wild?” He understood instantly and changed his grip on his sword accordingly. 

__

“Of course. I’m relying on your brilliant swordsmanship, not a half-witted style. Now --” He turned his attention back to the primal. “If it’s my blood you want, then you had better know who it belongs to,” Percival boomed. “I’ll teach you to fear the Lord of Flames -- and return you to your truest state!” 

__

He crashed his hand on the primal’s tusk, the black glow erupting like fireworks before pulsing through its body, up until it reached whatever governed the primal like a brain. The beast was petrified, too overwhelmed for just long enough to do anything but become still. After taking as deep a breath as he could, Percival coated his sword in flames, thrusting it forward. The blade cut nothing, but the flames flowed around Sieg, melting the ice and freeing his sword. 

__

Once again, Sieg was seized by a swell of mixed emotions. There he saw the royal charisma and decisiveness Sieg had admired in Josef. Percival was truly growing from an aristocrat who could wear armor to a young king, and Sieg was proud to see that and sad to have not witnessed more of that transformation. Fear and memory reminded Sieg to be terrified, wondering if this would be Percival’s last hurrah, but above all Sieg felt a burning desire for victory, the urge to act and trust that the future must be seized, not survived. 

__

__

“O sword of the black dragon that races across the earth…” The words felt more grand than usual. “...Run them through! _Schwarze faenge!_” 

__

Sieg moved with such vigor that his joints stung from impact. He launched himself from the beast’s back, letting himself bathe in the furious rush of emotions and adrenaline. He made effective contact with the primal’s flesh and vital points of its body, but the strike he was counting on most was to the tusk. He sliced through the one impaling Percival, leaving as much on the boar as he could, and despite Percival’s furious effort, his legs crumpled underneath him, leaving him awkwardly leaning on his sword, trying to find some sort of stability. 

__

Sieg smoothly transitioned out of his attack into gathering Percival over his shoulder. The boar’s frozen panic wore off, and Siegfried and Percival felt a violent rush of air as Sieg narrowly dodged it charging one last time into them. 

__

The last of the crumbling stone structure fell and buried the primal, and Siegfried rushed to the nearest stretch of of snow as the pile of rubble settled, became quiet, and by some miracle remained still. 

__

\----------------------------------

__

__

The snow stained dark red quickly as Siegfried put Percival down, the tusk piece still running through his side. Percival clutched at it, panting shallowly as he tried to catch his breath but not exacerbate the wound. 

__

“...Siegfried…you’re bleeding.” The cut from the break in Sieg’s helmet was still bleeding freely. 

__

“So are you.” Sieg began to undo his scarf. 

__

“Humph.” Percvial had avoided looking at his side, keeping his arm and hand wrapped over it. His head swam from processing the sheer amount that had happened on top of the shock of the injury.

__

Sieg placed his hand on Percival’s, prying his hand off the wound with the gentleness Percival had always known him to have. He balled his scarf up around the wound and began to assess the damage, while Percival could only lie helplessly, trying not to yelp in pain. 

__

He felt himself fading. He had to find something to focus on, and all he could think to do was run through how disastrously his plan had gone. Getting severely injured almost immediately, failing to think about how the crumbling stones would be a hazard to Sieg, a victory once again coming to rely on Siegfried’s strength instead of their collected effort… 

__

Siegfried was saying something. Percival couldn’t process what, his mind too foggy, both from exhaustion and his frustration at himself, but Sieg cupped his face with a cold, armored hand when he closed his eyes. Fine, Sieg wanted him to stay awake. He could at least do that. 

__

Sieg’s face hovered over him, streaked with red from under the visor, the hair peeking out matted with sweat and blood. He looked as reassuring as ever, which irritated Percival. He was obviously worried. Things had obviously gone very, very wrong. He didn’t need to reassure Percival of anything, not even that he was there -- because of course Siegfried was there. He always was. Just late, most of the time. 

__

Percival hated the thought Sieg would waste his energy like this, but the words to express it just would not come. Instead they turned to the disgust he felt with himself for getting them into this mess. 

__

“It seems …” he started. Speaking felt like pushing back against a heavy weight lying on his chest, pressing out ink to fill his throat. He coughed as it tried to clear, and the subsequent pain in his side made his mind go to fuzz. 

__

Siegfried was talking again. Percival watched his lips moved meaninglessly and his face creased more as he hid less and less of his distress behind that soothing smile. Something about saving his strength, not needing to talk, something like that, Percival would guess. 

__

Percival couldn’t find the breath to say it out loud, but it was the last thing on his mind before he couldn’t fight off fading any longer. 

__

_It seems all I’m fit to lead are moths to flame._

__

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The working title for this one was "boar a hole in me."


	2. Chapter 2

Percival’s consciousness came and went for a while. He first woke up on Sieg’s back, the distinct feeling of a heavy, cold wet cloth on his side being the first sensation (other than pain, of course) he noticed. That must be Sieg’s scarf. The second was the crisp smell of winter being much stronger than before, and the third was the snow that was falling on them. 

Siegfried sensed Percival stirring. “Percival. Are you up?” 

“Mm.” 

He should pick his head up, which had fallen into the crook of Sieg’s neck, but it was warm and the only place any part of his body felt remotely comfortable. 

“I’m in your debt, Siegfried. Thank you.” There was still something in his mind urging him to be active. Pick his head up. Be an extra set of eyes. Don’t give in to, once again, relying so much on Siegfried. How else is he going to be convinced to stop being so hopelessly, pointlessly alone? 

“It’s nothing. How are you feeling?” 

“...Cold. I imagine it’s much the same for you.” 

“Ah. You’d be right.” 

Percival’s mind was swallowed by the conflicting instincts in him and the pain radiating from his side. He wanted to curl into Sieg tighter, to wake himself up and be useful, to apologize for taking his scarf for his wound…

“We don’t have much further before the outpost. We’ll rest there and wait for Lancelot and Vane.” 

“That’s a solid plan,” Percival murmured, not noticing his words were getting drowsy and sloppy as he faded again. 

He woke up next in a bed, feeling both colder and warmer, and the pain in his side somehow both duller and sharper. The room had high ceilings and bright natural light streaming in. He squinted against it, raising his hand to block it as his eyes adjusted. 

He vaguely recognized he was in the mapmakers’ outpost, from what little time he’d spent there earlier. Where was Siegfried? Obviously he’d brought him here and tended to him, and obviously he wouldn’t just take off, but Percival’s cloudy mind didn’t quite catch up to his body acting on instinct. He reached for something to pull himself up, but felt cold armor against his arms and back supporting him before long. 

Percival’s body felt like jelly. Even once Siegfried had shifted him to properly sit up, he couldn’t force himself to stay that way, and he helplessly flopped back into him. 

“Careful,” Siegfried said softly. Percival tried to grunt frustratedly, but instead made something of an embarrassing pained whine. “I agree. You should try and drink something,” Sieg replied, unfazed, as he handed Percival a canteen. 

He drank sloppily, still uncoordinated and weak, but gratefully, almost finishing the entire thing. The water had the distinctly green taste of being mixed with potion, and Percival wondered if that came from the one in his supplies or Sieg’s. He felt a poultice over his wound, tied to him clumsily but effectively enough with a mix of fabrics knotted together. 

The drowsiness was merciless. Percival ruefully admitted to himself he couldn’t win against it this time, either, and he turned to look at Sieg, intending to warn him and ask him to lay him back down. 

But Sieg was a mess. He hadn’t bothered to wash the blood off in any effective way -- perhaps he hadn’t even tried at all, and this was just what sweat and time had worn off -- and he hadn’t bothered bandaging his head. It looked as if practically half of his hair was caked in a bloody lump running from his forehead to his crown. 

Percival scowled, even as he was barely able to stay awake. Siegfried would always be like this, wouldn’t he? 

“Astrals above. You look atrocious.” 

He couldn’t stay awake long enough to hear Siegfried reply, but he felt himself laid back down and wrapped in blankets as he drifted off again. 

\---------------------------- 

Percival stayed awake the third time. It was in the dead of night, as white moonlight and warm lamplight dimly lit small, haloed parts of the outpost. 

Sieg wouldn’t have noticed if Percival hadn’t asked for him, he stirred so little this time around. 

“Siegfried. How long have I been out?” 

“A while. It’s been just about a day and a half since we separated from the rest.” 

“Hmm.” 

Sieg reached to refill the canteen with water, and only now he realized he still had blood caked on his fingernails and in the crevices between his fingers. Percival would certainly have something to say about that later. Maybe already, since he looked cross as Sieg came to his side. 

“You stitched me up.” Percival ran his hand over the new bandage Siegfried had made, this time from actual linen and gauze from a stash of medical supplies he found in the outpost. “Once again, I’m in your debt.” 

Siegfried uncoiled slightly, for a moment unsure if Percival had been angry with him for something he failed to notice. “I’m no medic, but it should be enough for now.” 

“I recall you training with the medics in the Order to learn some of these skills. I’m sure it’s more than suitable. ” 

“Ah, yes.” Sieg had sought them out after the battle of Burgundy. “I’ve learned a few things and had more practical experience since then, too. Can you sit up?” 

“Not without help.” 

This time, Percival was able to stay up. Sieg wrapped another blanket over his shoulders and handed him the canteen, Percival once again drinking deeply until he nearly finished it. He looked pale and sallow, even in this poor light, but at least he seemed lucid and alert. He looked at Sieg, frowning in the dull light. 

“You still haven’t even washed your face.” 

“Hm?” Only now it occurred to Sieg what Percival could be talking about. “Oh, that. I hadn’t really thought about it.” 

“Honestly, Siegfried…” Percival muttered. “Where are the bandages?” 

“Ah, I kept them on the bedside table here.” 

“Did you find an antiseptic?” 

“I made some with dried Olea plant and alcohol I found. It’s also right here on the table.” 

“What about a rag?” 

Sieg presented his scarf, draped over a nearby chair, hopelessly stained and still wet. Half of it didn’t even look blue anymore.

Percival sighed, looking at Sieg with not quite a frown, but something definitely beleaguered and irritated. 

“Come here.” He gingerly shifted himself so Siegfried could sit on the bed more easily and he could reach the aforementioned supplies. 

“Percival, it’s really nothing to worry about.” Sieg had just figured he’d let his body and blood handle it, especially when he was more concerned with the severity of Percival’s injury. 

“Siegfried, please. This is ridiculous. You can’t just leave your blood all over your face and dirty hair caked over a wound like that. Have you even bothered to look at it?”

“Not really.” 

Percival groaned exasperatedly. “This is why we can’t leave you alone.” It was obvious he would not back down.

“I see, I see. Well, then.” Sieg carefully sat on the bed, inching closer until Percival could comfortably reach him. Percival didn’t hesitate, wetting a cleaner part of the scarf with water from the canteen and wiping Sieg’s face. 

Percival looked almost comically serious and entirely focused on the task at hand, as always, and Sieg simply looked back at him. His appearance and strength were much weaker than usual, of course, but there was some vigor and firmness in his touch. He should be all right, Sieg dared conclude, some of the stress he’d been holding melting away. 

Sieg let Percival move his head in however which-way he needed as he moved from his face to the mess in his hair. It stung as Percival cleaned the wound and pulled snarls out of chunks of dried blood, but Sieg couldn’t help but let out a small sigh when Percival’s fingers dragged against uninjured scalp. 

Percival paused and sighed back. “Hopeless,” he muttered, sounding disdainful as ever, but he smoothed his hands down the sides of Sieg’s head, pressing from the temples to the nape of his neck. 

“Sorry,” Siegfried murmured absently, eyes closed, his whole posture relaxing. 

“You can apologize properly by resolving to actually take care of yourself.” He let go and paused long enough that Sieg remembered that whether Percival would accept it or not, he was helpless and exhausted. Indeed, when Sieg opened his eyes, Percival was breathing heavily, doubled over, leaning on one arm, the other clutching his side. 

Sieg cursed himself silently for getting lost in touch and forgetting the role he needed to play right now. He got up smoothly but hurriedly and tried to help Percival back down. 

“No. Let go. You’re not done yet.” 

“I feel much better. You have much more to worry about.” 

“I am _not_ lying back down,” Percival growled indignantly, looking fiercely at Sieg. “Until your head is bandaged properly. And since _you_ won’t do it --” 

“Okay, okay. I understand.” He took the bandages from Percival’s lap and fumbled together something to lay across his head before awkwardly tying it in place. 

“Oh for the love of -- Siegfried, really.” Percival balanced himself back to an upright position, and after a moment of silently coaching himself, he let go of his side and reached for Sieg, even gently tugging him by the hair to pull him closer. 

Patiently, Sieg waited, both in the awkward empty space of letting someone do something for him and nervousness that Percival was pushing himself unsafely. But Percival stubbornly parted Sieg’s hair away from his wound, tied it out of the way, and lay the bandages compactly and effectively before securing them in place with gauze. And even then, as Sieg more firmly pushed him back down, he seemed reluctant to stop fussing, looking at his handiwork and Sieg like he was finding more things to fix and improve. 

“That’s enough,” Sieg said more aggressively, laying a hand over Percival’s injury. He thought he saw red blooming through the bandages again, and Sieg couldn’t bring himself to look at it just yet. “I don’t need this kind of care.” 

Percival gasped slightly, looking like he remembered something, but in the next instant his brows furrowed as he held back a groan. 

Sieg felt a wet sensation on his hand. His stomach gnawed at itself as he looked at his palm, a splotch of slick red staring back at him. 

\--------------------------------

The pain of being awake for more stitches was terrible, but frankly not as bad as Percival expected. He was alive, for one, and his companion was someone he trusted who was both able and skilled enough to do such a thing. That in itself was immensely lucky. And it helped that he could turn just about any blade he wanted into one that could cauterize, though Percival reluctantly admitted that in his state, he was far more limited in casting his usual flames. 

What was almost unbearable was the unremitting pain afterwards getting worse and realizing that he and Sieg were in more danger than Percival had realized. He had a clear view of a high-up window as he laid for Siegfried re-applying the poultice.

“It’s been snowing hard since we fought the boar, hasn’t it.” 

“...Yes. We’re snowed in.” 

Percival frowned, burying himself in thought. They had very little information on the primal and, in fact, hadn’t expected it at all. After receiving a cryptic distress signal, Carl had made a request that they accompany Lancelot and Vane to rescue cartographers with sensitive information, so they had been expecting to prevent an international disaster, not a force of nature. The mapmakers were all in bad enough shape they weren’t much good for an explanation, and on top of that they’d had very little time with them before the boar showed up, already in a fury. The circumstances were troublingly vague now. Was the snowfall connected to them defeating the boar, thus leaving what it governed uncontrolled? Or had the boar reawakened, and this snow was its even more furious rampage, liable to punish everyone on the island? What had even gotten it rampaging in the first place? 

It was almost enough to distract him from the terrible pain and growing hunger he’d been trying to ignore. 

“Did they leave any food?” Percival asked plainly, knowing that he’d think more clearly on a fuller stomach. 

“No,” Sieg replied regretfully as he laid a new layer of gauze. “Not much. They were already low on supplies, and it looks like they packed and left with most of them. We have what little we brought, a tiny bit of grain, and some dried medicinal herbs.”

Percival hid groaning with pain under a thoughtful ‘hmmm.’ 

“There isn’t anything you could hunt or gather, either,” he thought aloud. “Not in this terrain or weather, else I’d expect you’d have already done it.” 

“You’d be right about that. But I think we have enough to make a decent porridge, especially since water’s no issue.” 

“You didn’t already make some? Haven’t you gotten hungry?” 

Sieg calmly finished tying up Percival’s new bandage and got up, shrugging slightly. “I can go ahead and make it now.” 

Percival pursed his lips and frowned, watching as Sieg walked off to gather the ingredients. He could already tell Sieg had planned everything around Percival getting the lion’s share of what food they had, if not all of it. He absently rubbed his side as his jaw tightened in frustration. 

\-----------------------------

Sieg had never been passed a half-full bowl so aggressively or had someone glower at him with such good intentions. 

“...Haha. Nothing gets by you, does it?” 

“What,” Percival growls, punctuating and lingering on his words to get across just how irritated he was. “Is the point of starving yourself? Really. I want to hear it, Siegfried. What gormless thought process did you follow to reach a solution like this?” 

Percival looked his weakest and most pained yet, but it seemed none of that could get whatever fire burned in his belly to quiet. Sieg couldn’t recall a time Percival looked angrier with him. In fact, he realized, he had never seen Percival truly angry with any of his comrades, so much as his particular kind of irritated and short-tempered. 

It was intimidating, but it did inspire Sieg to not give an evasive answer. 

“I think it’s more important you get fed than I. Nothing else.”

“That’s incredibly stupid.” 

Sieg was not sure why that, of all the harsh things Percival’s said, hurt more than others. 

“...You’re very gravely injured, and I’m not.” 

“No, Siegfried, this is much more than that. I could just as easily argue that you need more strength, since I’m depending entirely on you to stay alive for as long as we’re stuck here. What happens if the boar rouses itself, finds and attacks us, and you’re too hungry to think clearly? I could think up a hundred other reasons like that.” 

Sieg shut his eyes, feeling frustrated, but also terrified of what Percival was pushing up against. 

“‘_I don’t need this kind of care,_’ you said,” he repeated back at Sieg. 

“I don’t.” 

“Of course you do!” Percival turned to Sieg with such worrisome fervor that Sieg acted entirely on instinct. He practically slammed the porridge down and pounced on Percival, pinning his shoulders to the bed and frowning darkly. 

“You need to hold still.” His voice was a low rasp, and his fingers dug into Percival’s shoulders. 

Percival, as always, did not back down in the slightest. “And you need to eat more than a spoonful for show.” 

“I refuse to let anyone else I hold dear die because of my negligence,” Sieg growled. The words felt like the were being wrenched out of his gut, his mind not even processing them until they were wholly unable to be considered or revised. 

“You won’t,” Percival said with incredible passion for how little strength was left in him. “Siegfried, you never have.” 

Siegfried froze. None of them knew that. 

“I’ve been able to fail and grow a thousand times because of you,” Percival continued when it was clear Sieg wouldn’t reply. He still spoke with ferocious determination, but from Percival’s tongue and the light choke in his throat, it almost sounded pleading and apologetic. “...My ideals would’ve never grown from useless, self-serving fantasies if it weren’t for you.” 

Whatever crossed Sieg’s face must have telegraphed some of the knotted mess he’d never bothered to put to words. Percival still looked at him with furrowed brows and a severe gaze, but the concern in him couldn’t be plainer to see. 

“Do you believe me?” Percival asked sincerely. “I’ll do whatever it takes to convince you, and ask Lancelot and Vane to do the same.” 

Sieg exhaled deeply as he squeezed his eyes shut and pressed his forehead to Percival’s. He tangled his fingers through his soft red hair and held his face, his breath shuddering. 

\---------------------------------------- 

Sieg relented to finishing most of the last portion of porridge before insisting Percival have the last few bites. After the dishes were put away, there was little left to do but bide time. 

Neither Siegfried nor Percival could really sleep. They were both stressed, given the uncertainty of their situation. Sieg wasn’t about to let Percival go unmonitored or leave them defenseless just in case something came knocking. Percival’s body simply wouldn’t let him between the pain and many hours he’d already spent unconscious.

The mapmakers had left many of their books and some of their notes, and at Percival’s suggestion, a small pile developed on his bed as Sieg gathered anything of interest. He moved lamps so they could comfortably read, even in the dark, and Sieg sat on the floor, back against the side of the bed. 

Percival found himself most interested in the amateurly made books, able to get sucked in for whole periods as he filled in the empty holes regarding answers about the boar. They were mostly copies of records and stories by the island’s residents, some even handwritten and illustrated. They looked surprisingly unread, for the use Percival figured they would pose the cartographers, especially since they should have a much more intimate understanding of the primal and the land than someone from Feendrache ever could. Percival soon learned the boar was called Erymanthos, and it was the island’s guardian of permafrost. And, thankfully, its physical form was as malleable as ice itself -- rather than immediately revert to dormancy, it would try and reform in a snowstorm. While Percival still had worries about how the storm he caused would affect the residents, he realized that it was likely misplaced, if not arrogant. A snowstorm for people that had lived in snowy terrain their whole lives was nothing remarkable. He thought to himself he should learn from how they handled the storm, if time allowed. 

Sieg took a small hand-bound book of local folklore to flip through. Before long, he brought his hand to his mouth as he started to chuckle. Percival thought nothing of it at first, but Sieg would stop, look at the page again, and start laughing all over again. 

“What.” Percival felt worse than ever and had read the same page maybe thrice without processing anything. He was hoping for a distraction. “Explain what’s so funny.” Sieg just continued chuckling.

Percival clumsily reached and grasped for Sieg’s shoulder, trying to angle him so that he could at least see the page. Sieg moved it just out of view, turning to look at Percival with a soft, playful smile. 

“Siegfried.” 

Sieg laughed a little more, still refusing to share. Was he amused by Percival’s befuddlement? Percival’s expression puckered into something sour and the slightest bit hurt. He was vaguely reminded of times with Aglovale and Lamorak, where Percival was the only brother too little to be in on the joke. 

“I don’t think you’ll find it as funny.” Sieg was still smiling mischievously and holding back a laugh.

Percival frowned further. “Try me,” he said, holding his open hand towards Sieg. 

Sieg handed Percival the book. There was a strange drawing of a boar on half the page, clearly by a passionate amateur who’d never seen a boar (and maybe another skydweller, Percival thinks) in their life. It was wall-eyed, and humanlike features blended badly with piglike ones. Draph-like ears came off if its cheeks. It had a harsh unibrow and a tall nose-bridge that somehow flowed into a drooping pig snout. Its legs folded underneath it like stuffed, fat noodles, and the fur and ice-quills were drawn sparsely enough that it just looked like it was sticky and rolled on a rug. 

The noise Percival made was as unclear as he felt, which Sieg delighted in so much he burst out in loud laughter. 

“I haven’t even read the text yet!” Percival hissed. 

“Please do,” Sieg managed, shifting himself so he could watch Percival’s reaction. Percival eyed him suspiciously. 

It was a “just-so” story about Erymanthos and why red was considered bad luck on this island. Percival had dismissed that as old superstition since he’d attracted stares when he first arrived on the island, but he read on. A young nomad with hair red like fire met Erymanthos when she had strayed away from her group. She was immediately attacked, only to be rescued by an old hermit, who was so powerful she stopped the boar just by stepping in front of it. The nomad was fascinated, and though she had to depart with her family before she could ask the hermit the source of her power, she vowed to grow strong enough to face the boar again someday and have it stop in front of her. 

Percival had to admit he was enjoying the story, forgetting entirely there was a punchline waiting. She grew up into a fine warrior, the leader of the group, and a proud mother. One day when she went to fetch her child that had strayed far from the group, just as she once had, she saw Erymanthos charging for them in the distance. 

The boar did not stop, and she locked in combat with it. Grasping its tusks, she demanded to know why she didn’t have its respect like the old hermit had. And Erymanthos replied, simply, that it hated the color red. The sight of it made it furious. There was no rhyme or reason why, it simply did.

“There it is,” Sieg said warmly, again holding back a laugh. Percival was not sure what face he must’ve made to make it so clear how idiotic he felt, but he was mortified. He let the book fall onto his face, covering his expression, as he closed his eyes and felt his cheeks grow hot.

“What a sense of humor the Astrals have,” Percival muttered sourly from under the book. 

“Well, now you don’t have to worry about having hurt its feelings,” Siegfried added helpfully. Percival groaned in response, and Sieg laughed again as he gently held and patted Percival’s hand in consolation. “And that explains the distress signal. The uniform coats the mapmakers wore were red, too.” 

How foolish of him and Feendrache to not respect local custom like that, Percival thought to himself. But despite how embarrassed, weak, and stressed he felt, he already sensed this, like so many other times with Siegfried and the others, was a very precious moment. To fail with room to rise again, supported by the kindness, patience, and humor of people he admired. 

He grasped Sieg’s hand more tightly as the thought crossed his mind that he desperately did not want this to be among the last. But he could still feel the life and strength draining out of the hole in his side with frightening speed, no matter how much Sieg patched him up.


	3. Chapter 3

When morning light lit the room clearly enough there was no need for lamplight, Siegfried offered Percival water as he routinely had, but he barely responded. He didn’t take the canteen, and Sieg had to hold it to his lips and tilt his head to get it down. 

Now that things were brighter, it hit Siegfried at once just how much Percival’s condition had worsened. He was extremely pale, and where he had been alert and restless just a couple hours earlier, he was now subdued and limp. Sieg had cared for him throughout the night, and while he knew things were gradually getting worse, it hadn’t hit him how big the gap between then and now was. 

Sieg entertained a desperate thought for a moment -- would giving Percival his own blood have the same effect as consuming Fafnir’s? -- but turned back to pragmatic solutions. 

There wasn’t much for his physical needs that Sieg hadn’t both already done and were within his power. His entire body screamed with the fear he’d managed to push to the back of his head throughout the night, especially as Percival proved again and again he still burned with all his usual fervor. 

He swallowed memories of Burgundy and his last moments with Josef, but they tasted less guilty than before. A more nostalgic regret spoke to him now, flashes of times at the tavern, the lessons in the courtyard, and being united on the Grandcypher guiding him. 

“Percival. Can you hear me?” He sandwiched a deathly cold hand between his, rubbing gently and even giving a puff of warm breath. 

It took some time, but Percival stirred and murmured back. “...Yes.” 

“Can you look at me?” 

Again, with some time, Percival wearily complied. Siegfried smiled genuinely, despite how much he ached. 

“There was something on your mind earlier. You looked like you recalled something important.” 

“Mm……” Percival couldn’t keep his eyes open, but he seemed to get Sieg’s motive for bugging him like this and forced himself to grasp back at Sieg’s hand. “Just an old memory.” 

“Tell me about it.” 

He hesitated, long enough that Sieg gently prodded him again. 

“It was….very long ago. Not long before my mother died.” 

Sieg had long known about that, but this was the first Percival had ever brought it up in conversation. 

“We had filled room after room in the manor with guests. All refugees from that war…” 

“Yes. I know the one.” 

“I was scared...so I followed my mother around like a chick more than usual. Everyone referred to me as her assistant. I remember she approached a particular room, the one that smelled like a rosebush all year round. She told me I didn’t have to come in with her to that room...that it would be scary and difficult. But I was her assistant. So I went with her.” 

Percival’s grip loosened. Sieg turned his hand over, folding his fingers back around Sieg’s until he held on again. 

“It smelled like the rosebush...but also metal and rot. There were groans of pain I thought I’d never forget... I was too young to understand the details, but I still knew that the man lying on the bed in there was going to die.” 

Sieg’s eyes stung, hoping desperately this wasn’t fortune-telling. He rubbed Percival’s hands more, both to encourage and warm him and to help Sieg’s own nervousness. 

“I came back with my mother several times until he passed...she spent a lot of her day with him in between attending to others. She would have conversations with him while she tended to his wounds, helped him bathe, brought him tea and snacks, even arranged a bouquet of flowers for him... I stayed up with her late into the night until he passed. We talked…” Percival trailed off, furrowing his brow. 

Sieg touched Percival’s cheek lightly when he took worryingly long to continue. Much to Sieg’s relief, Percival at least attempted to swat it away, though it was more of a limp nudge. 

“I don’t remember about what. Don’t rush me.” 

“Of course.” 

“Mother stayed up to take care of the body and told me to go to bed. My brothers and I all shared a bed at the time to help make room for more people...so I woke them up when I crawled in and cried like the overwhelmed child I was. 

“When Aglovale asked where I had been...I told him, ‘I was taking care of the dead man.’ 

And he asked me why I would do such an illogical thing, even after I cried and babbled through the whole story to them. I was too meek at the time to do anything but agree and go to sleep. It was illogical. The time, the resources, even those flowers...it should make sense for all that to go elsewhere…towards something with an actual future...” 

Percival trailed off, his grip loosening again. 

“But,” Sieg encouraged, stretching Percival’s fingers out before rubbing them between his hands. 

“....But…” Percival sucked in air and exhaled as deeply as he could. “It doesn’t. It doesn’t make sense to me. I used to think all the time about that...how am I supposed to lead well if my decisions are so confounding…?” 

When Percival trailed off this time, Sieg threaded their fingers together. 

“...Siegfried. It just doesn’t make sense. Aglovale was wrong. Of course you give someone as much care as you can in every moment they have in this life. That’s the absolute basest of what we deserve. What we need to survive. How a society functions.” There was another long pause. Percival had yet to even try to hold Sieg’s hand back.

“...Percival. Stay with me. I understand. I’ll be here to -- “ 

“No.” Of course Percival found some untapped source of vigor when he needed to tell someone they were wrong. “I’m talking about you. That’s what made me recall all that. Something in you just won’t believe you’re worth caring about. And I need to tell you it’s stupid.” 

Siegfried felt his tears finally spill then, and he only then realized he had been holding his breath as it came out in a single choked gasp. He clasped his hand tighter around Percival’s, shaking, and Percival limply grasped back

“Do you believe me?” 

Sieg couldn’t imagine what words he could possibly use to respond. Percival shifted his head as he tried to look at Sieg, blearly forcing his eyes open. Sieg could tell they were struggling to focus, and Percival was doing it more for Sieg’s sake than his. 

“Siegfried.” 

He was frozen, knowing that someone was going to this length for no reason other than they cared. 

Percival gave up on eye contact and shifted himself back to a more comfortable position with a sigh. Sieg hesitated, unable to think his way into any sort of reply, but eventually his gut took over. He pressed their still-intertwined hands hands to his face, and he lightly kissed the back of Percival’s.

He did not react. 

The whole outpost felt especially silent as Sieg felt for Percival’s pulse as he held his breath and all his tears back. He was still alive, but barely, and not for much longer. 

Just as Sieg started to think it was time for the most desperate solution, he heard the crunch of snow, a flurry of barking, and Vane yelling at the top of his lungs for both of them. 

\--------------------- 

There was a strange chill on Percival’s breath. It was different from the last sensation of cold he recalled, like it didn’t threaten to swallow him entirely. It was refreshing like peppermint, and it was in sharp contrast to how warm the rest of his body felt. 

“-- you sure? It doesn’t usually take this long...but I don’t know if I can cast again so soon…” 

“Nooo, you did great. Percy’s probably just taking his time ‘cuz his firey butt isn’t used to how you heal.” 

And here he was, feeling so serene. He frowned as he cracked his eyes open. “What was that, you dumb mutt?” 

Vane yelped in surprise. Percival suddenly felt Vane’s overenthusiastic, uncontrolled grip tight on his shoulders, shaking him. 

_“Percy!!!”_

Vane looked near tears when Percival’s sight focused. He almost would’ve been moved if Vane didn’t threaten to bruise him and weren’t shaking him so furiously his neck hurt. 

“Ahhhh, we knew you’d make it, but you still had us all so worried!” 

“If you were so worried, why are you so hellbent on injuring me all over again?!” Percival barked furiously. 

“Shut up, Percy!” Vane hugged him tightly. Percival opened his mouth to protest, but Vane held him with so much consideration -- he avoided the parts of Percival that hurt, and he held tight enough to express what he meant, but not so tight that it was painful -- and exhaled with such relief that he held his tongue. 

“For the last time. Stop calling me ‘Percy,’” he muttered as he relaxed and let Vane hold him as he liked. He noticed his side still hurt and was still bandaged, but it was tremendously mild compared to before. And while he certainly wasn’t eager to jump into any fights, his strength was more or less back. He smiled to himself. How lucky he was to have as many reliable companions and vassals as he did. 

When he’d had long enough, he patted Vane’s back, and Vane either didn’t get the hint or chose to ignore it. Percival found it impossible to tell, and he wasn’t sure which one irritated him more. He felt strong enough to try and wriggle his way out of his grasp, which, thankfully, Vane did relent to, and sitting up was now much easier. He rubbed his face before looking around, dimly processing what had just happened, where he was, how he felt. 

“You know where you are?” 

“The Grandcypher, obviously.” 

“Yeah, in sickbay. Do you know who this is?” 

Percival’s eyes fell on a child with lilac hair and long, sharp ears, looking somewhat sheepishly between Vane, who stood behind her with his hands on her shoulders, and Percival. 

“Lily, yes?” She looked surprised he knew of her. “I’ve heard high praise for you from the rest of the crew. You and Vane are frequently on missions together, correct?” 

“Heheh. You’re famous!” Vane patted her shoulders. “Even the Lord of Flames knows you!” he continues, putting on a silly, melodramatic voice, clearly mocking Percival. 

“Enough already!” Lily giggled, and Percival felt about ready to throw Vane off the side of the ship. “It’s a wonder you tolerate him, though I suppose a large child like him is easy to get along with,” he grumbled, and Vane complained as loudly as expected. “...It’s good to be properly introduced, Lily,” Percival continued over Vane, offering a handshake. “It seems I’m in your debt.” 

“Um…” She hesitated. “It might be a bit cold…” 

“That’s no reason for me to not shake your hand.” 

Lily smiled adorably and shook Percival’s hand back. The icy cold wasn’t nearly as oppressive as that of Erymanthos, and Percival relished how firmly he could grasp Lily’s small hand. 

There was a light knock at the door to sickbay. 

“Vane.” Heles stood at the door, an armful of boxes at her side. “Your presence has been requested with the captain.” 

“Oh. That’s probably an update about Siegfried.” Vane and Percival exchanged looks -- that’s right, I need to tell you what happened, you dumb dog, why didn’t you tell me what happened -- and Vane held up a ‘just a moment’ gesture to Heles. “So: Lancey took off for Feendrache with all the mapmakers, and I’m staying behind to sweep the outpost one last time for anything we shouldn’t leave behind. We couldn’t fit both you and Siegfried on the dogsled we borrowed, so the cap and Lyria and some others went to get him. And they’re all gonna handle the stuff with the Erybororis primal thingy, if they need to.” 

“Erymanthos,” Percival tersely corrected. “You haven’t seen Siegfried since then?” 

“He’s okay,” Vane reassured. “He might’ve been the one worried most about you, you know. You should stay in bed for him.” 

Percival’s whole body had gone tense and alert since Sieg came up, but he admitted to himself Vane was right. It would be disrespectful to the lengths Sieg had gone for him, especially while he was still feeling out just how healed he was. 

Vane left with Lily, mentioning something about making pie for her later. Heles pulled a seat next to Percival’s bed, then a small side table, placing the contents of the boxes she carried on it in an organized fashion. 

“Tea and chess?” Percival observed as Heles produced a pot, lovely-smelling leaves, and their usual chessboard-box.

“We missed our usual session while you served your favor to Feendrache. And after the ordeal you went through, it seemed a comfort you could use.” 

“Mm. I’m grateful.” 

Percival was most anxious to see Siegfried, but Heles’s presence was certainly a comfort. And, it occurred to Percival, she might offer useful perspective that someone closer to his fellow knights could not. 

Heles used a small stove powered by a spare fire orb to prepare the tea, and in place of her usual tea cakes, there were heartier cheddar biscuits to snack on. She set the board up as methodically as usual, and she and Percival began their usual friendly game. 

A couple moves in, just as the first non-pawn piece moved, Percival queried her. 

“Do you find it difficult relying on Naoise, your brother, or Scathacha?” 

Heles kept looking at the board, still calculating her move. “Could you elaborate on your question a bit more?” 

She moved her knight, and Percival decided to take time while deciding his next move to refine his question. 

“I suppose I really have two questions,” he said, moving a pawn. “The first being if you find it difficult to realize you need it. The second being if you worry about troubling them, since you’re ostensibly their leader. They are your younger brother, your charge, and someone who used to serve under you, after all.”

Heles chuckles. “Scathacha, being referred to as my charge. She would call you an idiot and pout at you for that. But I understand your question. Hmm…” She looked thoughtfully at the board. 

Pieces moved back and forth between them as Heles described her answer. 

“You could not hold my answer as an equivalent to Siegfried,” she opened. 

Percival rubbed his forehead in embarrassment. “Am I really that transparent?” 

“You are very. It’s sweet, really.” She laughed with that hint of slyness Percival was fond of when he wasn’t the one being gotten. “But things are quite different. None of you are both a child and a nigh-immortal being of untold wisdom and power at once, for instance.” 

“Humph. No, that’s spread between two of us,” Percival added with a wry smile. 

Heles smiled delicately over her teacup. “I shall still offer what perspective I may. To begin with, I think you must not discount relying on others is a broad spectrum of relationships in itself. Seruel and I have relied on one another as royal peers and political strategists our whole lives, while I have been Naoise’s superior and employer as much as a childhood friend. Those details have colored our relationships quite differently.” 

“I ask different things of them with different amounts of ease. Just as I would not burden Seruel with matters of the heavy heart our parents’ absence has left us, I can confide in him the moments of reckless, capricious abandon I feel on our journey and expect him to compensate, should my behavior become troublesome. While with Naoise, I may consider discussing those matters of the heart with him, as he has always had the good-natured spirit to commit to others’ troubles like that. But trusting him to be in charge of my restraint?”

“As foolish as hoping Lancelot would clean his room.” 

Heles chuckled. Percival had stopped paying attention to the game entirely, listening intently. She took the opportunity to take a piece, gently knocking it over with her knight, and put Percival in check. He chided himself silently as he tried to recall what had even happened on the board and craft a plan to turn the tables. 

“That is not to say I am always correct in how I withhold moments of weakness. But you and I are friends precisely because you stepped in to help during one of those.” 

Was it Heles’s strategy to distract him with sentimental memories? Percival felt himself smile without thinking, remembering his impromptu trip to Irestill in her stead. 

“This is all to say, Percival,” Heles folded her hands, leaning back from the chessboard as Percival pawed at pieces, testing out moves. “I think it would be wise to simply trust yourself as you continue to fight alongside your comrades from Feendrache. He probably relies on you in ways you don’t recognize yet, or he is still learning how.” 

“He certainly acts like he lacks in experience with that.” 

“Then it is good you and your comrades will be there to help him gain it. Checkmate.” 

Percival leaned back into the headboard and pillow, exhaling as he frowned at the chessboard. 

“...Your thinking is as sound as ever,” he admitted, absent-mindedly rubbing his side. 

“Thank you. Now, please take a biscuit. I imagine you’re starving, and you are one of my taste-testers for this new recipe.” 

\--------------------------

Siegfried hadn’t felt the weight of his armor in quite some time. He was exhausted, between the stress, lack of sleep, and a second battle with Erymanthos. But with the captain, Lyria, and many competent allies in tow, it wasn’t so much a desperate gambit as a violent conversation. And it even grew to a pleasant one, once Lyria found her opening to absorb the excess of power surging through the primal and convinced it to calm down. He was even able to apologize to the beast for damaging its tusk, and Erymanthos simply laughed and apologized right back for hurting his companion when it literally saw red. 

His mind was still on Percival. Certainly, he could trust he was in no better hands after Vane rushed him to the Grandcypher, and a friendly crewmember had told him that he was all right and resting when he came back aboard. But Siegfried was still unable to completely convince himself, not when the last he’d seen of him had been much too reminiscent of times past. 

He went to sickbay first, was informed Percival had gone back to his quarters, went there immediately, and knocked on the door. 

“Come in.” 

Siegfried opened it with trepidation, even though he recognized Percival’s voice. It wasn’t until he saw Percival, the life and color clearly back in him, repairing the hole the boar had left in his chainmaille, that he finally released the tension and stress weighing him down. 

Percival immediately put his handiwork down and rushed to embrace him, both of them sighing heavily in relief. 

“You look awful,” Percival murmured as he pulled away. “You’re going to rest now whether you like it or not.” 

“I would,” Sieg says, unable to stop smiling. Percival sighed and smiled back, taking Sieg’s still broken helmet off for him and brushing his hair out of his face. Sieg closed his eyes and sighed. 

Percival stripped Sieg of all his armor, arranging it neatly next to his, and offered to get Sieg’s clothes from his room. Sieg bathed as Percival fetched them and took his bloody garments to where he was already soaking his. 

It felt nice, Percival doting on him like this. Siegfried dried his hair more gingerly, paying mind to his wound, even if his blood had already closed it up cleanly. He should learn to accept and enjoy it. 

When Percival came back, Sieg had only one thing in mind. He tossed on his clothes, grasped Percival by the sleeve, and dragged them into bed, curling close into Percival before sighing contentedly.

He tucked his head under Percival’s and tangled his body around his, not remembering many times he was so eager to sleep or more comfortable, but not before Percival grasped his hand and lightly kissed the back of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know how this turned into such a beast of a fic, this is legitimately the longest fictional thing I've ever written?? I think I'm just drunk off of how much faster telling a story is when you don't have to draw out every single panel like you do for comics.
> 
> Lily and Vane are the core of my Water front lines right now, so I thought it'd be a cute little homage to what a great job they've been doing, hehe! (Too bad I couldn't quite write in Lily riding around on Vane's shoulders.) 
> 
> I will die on the hill that Heles and Percival are super functional best friends who give ridiculously methodical advice to one another. I feel like she's, like, the one person on the Grandcypher who never gets Asshat Percival tbh.


End file.
